


But I could never love again

by TheWolvenStorm



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Clothed Fingering, F/M, Heavy Petting, Mutant Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 05:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18866632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolvenStorm/pseuds/TheWolvenStorm
Summary: Rogue's had a rough day, and Remy seeks her out.





	But I could never love again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashleyfanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleyfanfic/gifts).



> Hey this for AshleyFanfic! She's a swell gal.  
> And! She beta-d this fic for me.  
> Go read like anything she's written.
> 
> It's loosely inspired by Jolene by Dolly Parton.  
> My favorite cover is Justin McElroy's from Awful Squad.  
> There's something haunting and beautiful about running through a foggy landscape killing zombies while an acoustic Jolene plays softly in the background.
> 
>  

“With flaming locks of auburn hair  
With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green”

 

There’s no escaping it when she’s angry. She’s like a hurricane. Loud and violent. Prone to lash out. A cyclone of heated emotions and the frosted exterior of someone who has to keep others at arms distance. 

“An’ anotha thing, Summers-” she spits, slamming the door behind her as she follows after Cyclops. He can hear them arguing as he lingers outside the door, leaning up against the wall, absently shuffling a trusty deck of cards. 

The details are vague, but he can hear Summers shouting back. She’s being reckless again. Barrelling headfirst into danger without checking in with anyone. 

No…

Without checking in with him. Not following the command structure. Summers reams into her, pointing out every mistake, every flaw. Everything that could’ve gone wrong but didn’t. 

“AH DON’T HAFTA LISTEN TO THIS!” her impossible strength cracks the edges of the door frame as it flies open. 

Her face is twisted in rage, but it twitches and quivers. Emerald eyes shining with unshed tears as they meet his. 

“Whatchu lookin’ at, Swamp rat?” Her voice wavers. 

“Nothin’ Chere” he answers quietly, cutting the deck and shuffling it once again. 

She opens her mouth to say something clever. Some cut to push everyone away... to push him away. But instead, she sniffs once, steeling herself with all that pent up rage she keeps buried inside her. And turns on her heel, and marches away, pulling at the edges of her bomber jacket.

“Got something to say, Gambit?” Summers looks up at him 

“Don’chu think you were a lil’ hard on her, Mon Ami? Mission was a success. No-one got hurt.” 

Scott steeples his fingers and exhales a deep breath through his nose. Nostrils flaring as the red lens of his glasses flash. 

“When we go out into the field, we represent Mutant-kind. We have to control ourselves. We cannot be seen acting recklessly. It endangers all of us.” 

“Seems like we endanger ourselves by saving others all de time.” 

Scott’s lips form a thin line as they press together. 

“We don’t need to give them any excuses to hate us. We need to stick together and present a united, organized front to the world.” 

“Sure thang, Summers” he muses, dancing a card along his fingers. “Wonder tho’, what happens when we ain’t so united?” 

He pushes himself off the wall and strides down the hall before Summers can feed him another line. Type-A busy bodies with nothing in their heads but work.

It takes time to find her, though perhaps that's a good thing. She needs time to herself. But he can’t help but feel that she’s had too much time to herself. They been dancing round each other for years. Tugging back and forth. Getting close then pushing away. Team-mates, lovers, friends, strangers. Around and around it goes. 

She’s in the gazebo, leaning over the railing, her behind sticking out like a Georgia peach. Wild mane of auburn curls gently lifting in the sunset breeze. 

“Dis reminds me of home, non’?” 

“Not really.” She sighs, emerald eyes glancing down at her gloved hands then back out at the sun setting over the institutes verdant lawn. Landscaped bushes and neat gardens. Splashes of manicured color. 

“Lil too prim and proper for a couple of backwattah hicks like us.” He leans over the railing next to her. 

“Speak fo’ yourself, swamp rat…” she smiles through the insult. A sad small sort of smile. One that both teases and hides. 

He reaches his pinky out, hooking it around her little finger. A small gesture, a tentative offering, but one she yields to. Letting him take her hands and turn her to face him. 

“Wan’ me t’ beat him up for you.” 

She snorts at him. Something wicked gleaming in her eye. A look that tells him what he already knows. No-one needs to fight her battles for her. 

“Whas wrong, chere.” 

“You know Remy…” she finally says his name. His name in her sweet, rough voice. The twang and whine lilting across the syllables as she lifts her head to meet his, “Same ole. Same ole.” 

He hums a non-response, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. The fabric of her gloves bunching and twisting beneath the pad of his thumb. “Same ole. Same ole,” he repeats quietly turning the glove over and planting a kiss in the palm. 

It takes some coaxing, some cajoling, some cane sugar and cajun spice, but he gets her to relax. Gets her let go and lean against him as the sun dips below the horizon. His hand slipped around her waist as they sit on the steps leading up to the gazebo. 

“We should get in, sugah.” 

“Non. Stay out here wit me.” 

“Alright.” 

His clever fingers start to trace patterns along her ribcage. Slipping beneath the heavy brown leather of her bomber jacket to find the warmth of her body radiating through the fabric of her jumpsuit. 

She flinches, stiffening in his grasp, and he freezes, letting her decide between fight and flight. Fight her instinct or withdraw and retreat. A heavy sigh hums out her nose and she settles deeper into the crook of his arm.

“Ah miss this…” she admits after a long quiet. 

“We gotta stop runnin’ in circles den.” 

“It doesn’t work.” She shakes her head against his shoulder. The fabric scraping across his skin with the movement. “It never works.” 

“Cause we cowards.” 

“Maybe… Maybe we’re just too broken.” 

“Don’t think so, chere…”. Pressing a careful deliberate kiss on the top of her head. “I don’ think dere’s such a thing as too broken.” Nosing his way through the thick mass of her hair. Dropping a light one behind her ear. An auburn curtain of curls shielding his skin from hers. 

“Remy…” she warns. 

“Shhh… Chere,” he purrs, the unshaven edges of his chin brushing the shell of her ear. “Don’ worry.” 

She bites her lip, her eyes sliding shut as her head rolls into the crook of his neck. Her breath coming in a small gasp as his palm glides from her ribs, down to the wide flare her hips, across her thigh, up the flat plane of her stomach, cupping a breast over the fabric of her jumpsuit. 

“Ah should clock you, Cajun.” her words escaping through a breathy smile. 

“But you won’,” he whispers, thieving fingers finding the zipper and pulling it down. Exposing what's underneath in a long line from her collar to where it ends low on her belly. A simple thin tank top and shorts hiding the forbidden treasure beneath. 

She’s warm. Too warm from being contained in the confines of her jumpsuit and she shivers with the night air. Gooseflesh rippling over the exposed ivory skin of her throat and chest. Puckering and tightening the tell-tale knots of her nipples beneath the thin fabric. 

“You cold, Chere,” he teases, flashing her a wicked smirk. 

“Shut up, Swamp Rat…” she rasps, arching her back, offering herself for his touch. Demanding it like the greedy thing she is. 

“You wound me,” he answers ghosting his fingers over the hardened peak.

She doesn't respond, no smart remark, no witty retort. No fiery temper. She can still feel it. Years of deprivation leading to hypersensitivity, hyper-awareness of every faint caress. Every brush and swipe, clear and electric. 

He can only tease for so long, He is a thief after all, and a good thief takes what is left unprotected.

Filling his hand with her. Cupping the soft swell of her breast. Pinching and palming. Growling and grabbing and groping. Kneading her. Needing to hear her squeaks of shock. Needing to feel her squirm in his hold. Twisting her in his arms. Giving him room to curl around her. Dipping his head to catch one pointed peak poking through the shirt. Capturing it between his teeth. 

The sharp of his bite is dulled by the fabric, but she squawks all the same. A surprised noise bursting from her. The shock paralyzing her for a moment before her gloved fingers tangle in his hair. Holding him tight against her as he worries the bud in teeth. 

He’d love to suck her skin, taste her on his tongue, mark her with purple red love bites and she’s…she’s the kinda gal who’d like to do the same.

It's not possible right now. It might never be.

So, he buries himself in her chest, darkening the fabric with his saliva. Abrading the sensitive flesh with the small ribbed weave of the tanktop. 

“Remy,” his name a breathy moan. “Ah… Ah I need--” 

She doesn’t need to finish the thought. His free hand already moving south. Slipping beneath the waistband of her jumpsuit. Skirting the edges of her bottoms. 

“Careful,” she gulps. 

“Shh--I know, Chere.” Squeezing her a moment in reassurance before burying his face in her hair. Inhaling her as he drops kiss onto the strap of her tank top. The delicate scent of day-old shampoo, the faint salt of sweat, and her. 

She purrs as he finds her, simple cotton shield soaked with the sticky sheen of arousal. Want molding the fabric to the folds of her body. He maps them with small deliberate circles. Blindly searching the landmarks of her center for his target. Finding it ready and waiting for his attention. A little lump of hard flesh aching for his touch. 

Her lips part in a breathy gasp, a small shudder rolling up her spine as he strokes her. Two fingers pressing and playing along the split seam of her body. 

It’s tricky to maneuver his hand under the the taut fabric of her uniform. Tricky to manipulate her moans and cries. But he is a thief and a good thief knows how to pick a lock. 

“Wait, sugah. Wait.” He withdraws with a frustrated groan, but he learned long ago that it is better not to push a woman who can snap his arm with a flick of her wrist. 

“Mon Dieu Rogue,” he sighs, a speech he’s given a hundred times ready on his tongue. Full of pleading points, begging her not push him away. 

But before he can start, he’s silenced with a gloved finger barely brushing his lips. Her bright smile dangerously close to his face as she covers his mouth with her hand. Protecting him from her lethal kiss as she mimics it on the back of her hand. Their warm breath mingling through the cracks between her fingers, close enough that her eyelashes flutter against his cheek

“Remy,” she whispers his name in a voice so soft, so ached with longing that it makes his heart swell. He kisses her palm, pulling her closer to him. A needy surprised noise slipping from her nose as his hand tangles in her hair. Wild curls wrapping around his fingers as he kisses back hard. As if he could make her feel it, as if he could touch her, taste her, tangle his tongue with hers. 

She pulls away first, staring at him for a long moment, a sad want in her emerald eyes. But it shifts with a mischievous sparkle as she peeks up over the railing of the gazebo back towards the mansion. Catching her lips between her teeth and pulling down the sleeves of her of jumpsuit, letting them pool around her thighs. 

“Whatchu doin’, Chere?” 

“Just givin you some room to work, Swamp Rat.” she smirks, tugging the bomber jacket back on and spinning around to sit in his lap, her thighs falling open between his, That round Georgia peach of her behind pressing against his groin. 

There’s no mistaking how much he wants her. The tight fabric of his own uniform does little and less to conceal his eagerness. He grabs her hips and pulls her to him. Grinding against her backside. Her hands run along his thighs, sharp nails still sharp between the layers. Biting out a swear, he wraps his arms around her, the soft tissue of her breast molding around the shape of his hand as he paws at her. 

He can smell her, now that her treasure is no longer trapped under so many layers. A thick heady scent that makes his cock throb and ache. A lower self urging him to spin to her around and pin her beneath him. Bury himself inside her. 

He’d be burying himself if he did. But... Dieu… it might be worth it.

Hissing, sucking air between his teeth. Pressing his brow against the cool leather of her bomber as he fights to control himself. One of them needs to keep their heads. One of them needs to stay in control as they toe the terrible line. And she has carried that burden for far too long. 

Dipping his hand back between her thighs, finding her eager and ready. Her sweet sap soaking the fabric. He paces his grind. Rutting against her rear as he rubs her front. Her hips shifting on her seat to move back against him. Her arm reaching back, finding his hair and dragging his mouth to her neck.

He can’t kiss her there, can’t suck her skin, can’t scrape his stubble over the sensitive flesh. But he can whisper encouragement, let her feel his breath on her ear. 

“Dat’s it, chere,” he growls as she arches back against him, his fingers feeding her friction. Circling her steadily then speeding up, only to bring her back down a moment later. Letting the waves of pleasure build and crest then ease. “Dat’s it.” Listening to her whimpering cries grow into high whines of distress. “Let Remy take care o’ you.” 

He presses a kiss to her temple, a sweat soaked lock of hair shielding him from her skin. Her hands clutch at his thighs, her impossible strength bruising the skin. Love marks he’d wear proudly in the absence of ones he can’t leave on her. 

She snorts and trembles, her mouth hanging in an open mouth cry, eyes pinched shut as she rocks and shudders. His name tearing from her throat in a wail that balloons his chest with pride even as he silences her, wrapping his arm around her face. Muffling her cries in his sleeve. 

A mansion full of nosey mutants might get the wrong idea hearing her scream like that. 

Her strong body goes slack, falling back against him, a wild thing practically purring in his arms. He traces patterns on the back of her hand as she eases down from her ecstasy. Pressing kisses into her hair, circling her nipple with the pad of his thumb. 

“Remy…” 

“Oui, Chere?” 

Emerald eyes sparkle in the moonlight, a smile curling her lips. Red, ripe, forbidden fruit he longs to kiss. 

But they must settle for an aching, swelling closeness in their hearts. For layers locking them away from each other and gloved hands intertwining. For small intimacies interrupted by his haunted past. And lost moments blinked away by barest brush of her skin. 

“Lets go inside, Sugah.” 

He deflates with a sigh and a nod, reluctantly releasing her from his grip. Adjusting himself as she straightens her uniform. Tugging the sleeves back up. She offers her hand and pulls him up to his feet. Mischievously, glancing down to his groin. 

“After all, I ain’t done with you yet, Cajun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow.... Has it been ten years since I wrote X-men fanfic?
> 
> Yes. Yes, it has. Sweet baby Jesus, I'm old. 
> 
> Hiding from the dumpster fire of my current ship in the sweet sweet embrace of my very first OTP. 
> 
> I love these two. I grew up with them. They are my heroes and they are saving me from existential crisis right now. 
> 
> I have a praise kink and feed on comments. Please and Thank you.


End file.
